"I got an offer for you. There's a party tonight. They need some help. You get free admission and a few drink tickets if you help set up. Whatcha think?"

"Hmm. Okay, why not."

I got there at seven. I canvassed the joint. The top floor was brightly lit and clean, tile floors waxed, projector screens taut. Far classier than your average rave joint.

The basement was musty and dirty. The walls were undergoing slow disintegration. Concrete chunks and brick were loose where they hadn't already collapsed. Water seepage had softened the entire structure, which was now propped up with wooden supports. It looked unsafe. It looked like a nice place to harvest kidneys or torture animals.

With less than two hours until the doors opened, none of the speakers or lights had arrived. Nor had the liquor. I stood idle, awaiting command, when one of the promoter's cronies walked up to me with two spools of back plastic sheeting and a staplegun.

"We want a third of this room walled off with this stuff. Use the foundation beams to mount this sheeting. Start here, by the stairwell, wrap around to about here, then there, and leave a small doorway against that wall. You'll have to grab another volunteer to help you. Think you can handle it?"

"Sure, no problem. This gonna be the VIP room?"

"In a way, yes. The dominatrix requested it. She's right, too. I would know. Once an audience exceeds fifty people, I don't feel comfortable being bound and whipped. Besides, I think the smaller room size just makes it feel more intimate, regardless of how many people are gawking. This'll limit access and oughta hold the crowd down to thirty or so."

"...Oh."

Two hours later the party was set to begin. I'd mounted laser lights, hauled kegs, even swept up concrete dust, though that particular effort was futile. It was time to relax and enjoy the party. People began to arrive.

My former roomie had brought a thirty pack of Pabst to fuel his muscles during the labor intensive party setup. He'd stashed it underneath the stairwell, which happened to be at the back of the kinky room. We lounged there, sipping beer, waiting for life to get exciting.

Captain Krack arrived with four women in tow. All were clad in shiny black PVC. Many were decorated with tattoos and piercings. The sexiest one was very skinny and wore black lipstick. She had an entire jewelry store slotted through her face. She could probably make a decent chain mail out of the hardware she was sporting. I was impressed. I later learned that she's engaged to a hippie.

The Captain donned black and red velvet. "Wow, gothic duds tonight, huh? I'm used to seeing you go as a clown, or Spiderman. This is quite a turn for you."

"That's cause I'm the dungeon master tonight!"

"Of course, of course. Duh."

I was drinking beer, relaxing, when he asked me to hold a candle. "Hold on to this, will you? I don't have much table space, and it's dark in here, so I'm afraid I'll lose it if I set it down." It was a large wide black cylindrical candle. "Do me a favor and find some scissors. I need to trim the wick in half before I light that."

I left with the candle and wandered upstairs. The crowd was thickening. It looked like a successful party lay ahead. I was smoking a cigarette, asking around for a sharp object, when I felt a familiar rumbling deep in my guts. It was number two, and it wanted out. Now.

The port-a-potties were still clean and fresh, having just been delivered an hour before. Unfortunately, the regular florescent lights upstairs had been turned off in favor of laser lights and projections. When I stepped up into the plastic poop station, I couldn't see a goddamn thing except for the occasional green or pink blip when the laser lights swept over the high set grille.

Fortunately, I had the candle. With soft romantic lighting, I saw the waste cavern below was full of water bottles and beer cups. No excrement, though I would remedy that.

It was kind of like bowling, but vertical. I scattered many "pins" with my hefty, well-targeted mud links. The candlelight was so pleasant I wanted to stay, maybe soak in a bubble bath, drink some wine, listen to classical. But there was no bath, so I had to forego the relaxing soak. I wiped, stood, fastened my pants, and blew out my candle.

I walked out with a big grin on my face. One of the dancing platform girls was standing outside the john. When she saw my smile and the smoking candle, she backed away slowly, furtively glancing in all directions for potential escape routes. I yelled over the music to her. "Great party, huh?"

I returned to the small area downstairs and found my former roomie tied up with leopardskin straps.

"I can't believe you're actually doing this!"

"You should try it, it's fun! This is my second time!"

"You just don't seem like the type..."

"Hey, can you feed me that beer? I can't move my arms right now. Ouch!"

They'd begun the whipping. A short, sexy, chubby blond girl held a strap in one hand and some sort of short tasseled whipping device in the other. She marked his exposed back with her weapons. Her exertions caused her tits to bounce. I fed my buddy beer, trying not to let the dominatrix's rack distract me. It did, but I never spilled any of the beer on my friend, or cut his lip with the can.

"Bottoms up, pal, you need this right now. Chug away!"

A few minutes later his session ended. We stood chatting while the three ladies lit candles, awaiting their next victim.

"You should try it, man! That was fun!"

"No way. Uh-uh. Not a fucking chance. Not my style. At all."

"C'mon, what are you afraid of? It's harmless fun. They'll stop if it hurts too much."

"Absolutely not."

"You're just scared."

"Yeah, so?"

"I'll be back. Getting whipped makes me need to take a dump. If you decide to do it, make sure to poo first. Trust me."

A dominatrix came up to me. "Where's the big candle? You have it, right?" I produced the candle, which I'd stashed next to our hidden beer. "Here you go."

"Wanna get hot wax poured on your back?"

"Sure." What had I just said? Oh no. Oh shit.

"Off with your shirt! Siddown on the bench. Now, bitch!"

They poured lots and lots of wax on me. They whipped me. Hard. They put clothespins on my tongue, my nipples, and my ears. I tried to say "I was born on a pirate ship" with the pin on my tongue, but I don't think anyone got the joke. I squirmed and wriggled a lot. Laughed, too. Although most of it is a blur in my mind now, I remember seeing people's mouths open in shock during one particularly vicious melee of whippings. They got me good.

It took a while for them to scrape off all the wax afterwards. I was leaning forward and most of it went into my underpants. I was kinda squeaky when I walked around after that. Many strangers gave me high fives and congratulations. This lasted all night.

The best/worst part of all this was the cameras. I'm told my friends have very incriminating pictures. One of them had people doubled over in laughter for several minutes, to the point where they were in pain from laughing so hard. I'm just thankful the punishment crew didn't bring a ball gag.